


Temptation

by guccigaloshes



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred is a Demon, Anal Sex, Blasphemy, Catholic Imagery, Closeted Character, God does not approve, Ivan is a Priest, M/M, Priest/Demon AU, Religious References, Sexual Coercion, bj, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 07:47:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26349574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guccigaloshes/pseuds/guccigaloshes
Summary: His smile was predatory, all straight white teeth that glinted from curled lips like an invitation, with sharp incisors that beckoned from the dim darkness like glittering stars. Those blue eyes raked over Ivan with delight, dancing like flames in sharply narrowed eyes. Ivan simply stared, stunned into silence. He had seen this face before.Priest/Demon RusAme AU: Something demonic is said to be haunting the church. Father Ivan doesn't believe in it, until he's forced to come face to face with the demon himself.
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 115





	Temptation

_“Let no one say when he is tempted, “I am being tempted by God,” for God cannot be tempted with evil, and he himself tempts no one. But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death.” James 1:13-15_

A demon appeared to him in a dream.

Ivan had been alone, sitting in a wheat field, the blue sky endlessly stretched over shimmering gold. He lay down slowly, shielding his eyes from an unseen sun. Somewhere, chimes tinkled faintly. Wheat brushed against his neck, tickling his chin. It could have been any summer.

_“Don’t you want more than this?”_ a boy’s voice asked, curious and light. Ivan couldn’t see anyone, but he wasn’t afraid.

_“This is all I have,”_ he replied, his own voice sounding distant. The sky swirled above him, a whirlpool of blues that shifted between light and dark, frothy like a clear ocean. 

_“No, you have me,”_ the boy replied. Ivan watched as someone else’s hands folded over his eyes, drawing darkness over his vision. Peek-a-boo. The hands were warm. _“You have me where you never wanted me. Let me in.”_

“ _What about Father?”_ Ivan heard himself ask. He felt his chest begin to warm, heat spreading down from his throat to stomach. The boy laughed in time with the beat of his heart.

_“If you don’t tell him, he won’t know,”_ the boy replied. Ivan felt the warmth further, past the dip of his hips. The hands removed themselves, and Ivan blinked up into the face of a young boy. His dark eyes matched his hair, which hung in unruly black lines over his forehead. Ivan was reminded of a bird’s nest. The boy was smiling, white teeth shining like diamonds. Ivan smiled back.

_“That is a lie. Father knows everything I do.”_ The boy threw his head back and laughed. Ivan blinked to watch his image distort, dark hair fading into sunlit gold. When the boy leaned over him again, his eyes had changed as well, faded from inky black into pearlescent blue.

_“He’s not my Father. He doesn’t know how much_ I _need_ you. _”_ He leaned closer, lips brushing over Ivan’s neck. Ivan smelled smoke, rich and heavy like a campfire. _“Set me free.”_

Ivan reached to touch himself. The warmth was too much to bear. He heard the boy breathe again in his ear, whispering something else, something too dark to hear. _Maybe just one touch, maybe just this once_ , he thought, watching as the boy’s hips moved against him. His hand groped, trying to find where his body lay. He felt weighted down, immobilized. The boy was laughing again, blue eyes shining bright. Ivan watched as skeletal wings unfolded from his back, stretching like fingers towards the sky.

_“What are you?”_ Ivan asked, voice heavier than the hand he could not move.

_“Don’t you know?”_ the boy hissed, venom snaking between his teeth. _“I am what you cannot have, I am what you cannot hate. I am your heart. I am your desire. Won’t you set me free?”_

Ivan felt a hand dip underneath his trousers, touching him lightly. He inhaled. 

_“...Yes.”_

The boy leaned forward once more, smiling with sharp teeth. Ivan felt his body surge, rising off the ground, hurtling towards a shapeless sun. The boy called his name, again and again, the syllables fading into rushing wind as he disappeared into blinding white.

He awoke with his hand between his legs. An icy shower erased the feeling from his body. Penitent prayer erased the dream from his conscience, and his memory. Mostly.

* * *

In the coming weeks, things began to change. Ivan chose not to notice, but the others did.

It began with strange sightings, altogether too frequent to go unnoticed, but never substantial enough for investigation. There was talk of flashes of gold, reports of faces appearing in the stained glass windows. Some claimed to hear whispers in the rectory halls and laughter in the courtyard. All of these things, Ivan believed, were simply conjured by the imagination. The senses were easily deceived.

Still, his fellow clergymen were in agreement; something unnatural graced the churchyard. Priests and deacons alike shared nervous stories that something hellish lingered in the shadows, just out of reach. They muttered Hail Marys as they moved from building to building, afraid of the unseen, clinging to their rosaries with trembling hands. Ivan, on his part, ignored the stories and dismissed the rumors. Idle minds, he reminded the congregation one Sunday, were easily bewitched. 

When Ivan began to notice, despite his convictions, he readily explained every circumstance. When he first saw an unfamiliar flash of gold, he believed it to be light refracting from the rim of the chalice. When he saw twin blues, a mysterious set of eyes peeking from within the stained glass windows of the chapel, he believed them to be spots miraging on the edge of his vision from a displacement of light. When he and his brothers heard laughter in the hallway, it was merely the reverberated groaning of the old pipes buried within the walls. Fluctuating temperatures produced all kinds of noises from the metal and wood, he explained to his perspiring fellow priests. The mind simply wished to exaggerate the everyday. Everything, Ivan reiterated firmly, could be reasonably founded in fact. 

Despite his determination to disprove the supernatural, the instances only seemed to increase. On more than one occasion, Ivan heard someone call his name, only to turn around and find himself alone. It was reported that in paintings, new faces appeared, but only for a moment. In the rectory, there always seemed to be a presence, and Ivan often found himself looking up to greet a visitor that never showed his face. Soon, holy objects appeared where they had not been placed, or disappeared altogether. A visiting priest once noticed a draft that seemed to come from nowhere, and promptly forgot his own name for several seconds. 

In time, almost all of Ivan’s peers refused to enter the church basement, claiming to hear unnatural sounds emanating from its depths. Talk of ghosts and demons overtook the daily recreation conversations, events were cancelled and visits rescheduled. Some of the brothers began to advocate for a visit from the Archbishop, asking for the clearance to perform an exorcism. But Ivan remained unwilling to believe. There was no such thing as ghosts. No demon would dare to cross into God’s domain. The reappearing visions were nothing more than coincidences, imaginings of young priests that in turn fueled superstitious behaviors. Furthermore, no one had been hurt, and nothing could be proven. Ivan was a man of God, but he was also a man of science. And without irrefutable evidence, all that remained was negligent hearsay. 

So he ignored what he heard, and denied what he saw. Weeks bled into months, with no sign of reprieve from these so-called ‘supernatural events.’ Yet every Sunday, Ivan implored the congregation and his fellow clergy to remain steadfast. The will, he reminded, was easily led astray. 

When he first felt a touch, Ivan believed it to be a failing of his own senses. When he felt another, he assumed it had been due to the weight of his robes shifting against his thigh without his notice. When he felt a third, he quietly asked who had done it. A silent room gave its response.

Finally, Ivan began to doubt. Of all the senses, touch was hardest to ignore. He would wake feeling hands on his hips, he would kneel and feel someone standing at his back. Fingers caressed his spine, tapping rhythms down his back. One evening, Ivan whirled a book at the office wall, hoping to scare an intruder that had yanked a hair at the base of his neck. It clattered against the floor, the only motion in the otherwise unoccupied room. Angrily, Ivan goaded any unseen visitor.

“Come out. This is not a game.” 

A slight laugh greeted him in response. It could have been the chilly wind of the evening slipping through cracks in the stone wall. Ivan was no longer sure.

* * *

One morning, Ivan awoke to another priest shaking him roughly by the shoulders. On instinct, he lashed out, backhanding his assailant with enough force to knock him against the shared room wall. Sitting up, he blinked away the last pulls of sleep from his eyes. Toris cowered at his side, arms raised with shaking hands.

“You...you were screaming,” he gasped, eyes wide in the early morning light. At Ivan’s look of suspicion, he continued. “You were...it was,” he lowered his voice. “Profanity, Father.” 

“What was I saying?” Ivan asked, voice raspy. Toris swallowed, pushing himself off the wall. 

“I can’t, I can’t repeat it. It was blasphemous. You were having a nightmare.” 

“Brother Toris,” Ivan commanded, sounding angrier than he’d intended. He sighed, drawing his knees to his chest. “I am sorry to have pushed you,” he said instead, softening his tone. “Please, tell me what I was saying, so that I may seek forgiveness.”

Toris folded his arms, his fingers wrapping around his own waist. He didn’t meet Ivan’s gaze. “Asking to be...fucked. Begging. I can’t...I _don’t_ want to say more.” 

Silence hung between them, tighter than a noose. Ivan let himself exhale. Toris looked as if he desired to be anywhere or anything else. 

Ivan smiled softly, his heart racing in his chest.“Of course. It was a nightmare. I must say, that does not sound like me. But regardless, I will pray for forgiveness, and for a more peaceful slumber.”

“I-I’m sure it was nothing, perhaps working too hard,” Toris said hastily, a small apologetic smile tugging at his features. It did nothing but increase Ivan’s irritation. Ivan nodded, fingers gripping the sheets that pooled around his ankles.

“Perhaps,” he repeated. 

_Liar. You wanted it._

The voice was too close to his ear, almost inside it. Ivan blinked. “What?”

Toris was heading towards the door. He turned, looking wary. “I said, I’ll pray for you, Father.” Ivan held his gaze, eyes narrowed. Toris hesitated, a question in his eyes that he was too afraid to verbalize. Ivan felt his thumping heart tilt forward, tumbling down into his stomach. 

“Thank you, Brother,” Ivan said, attention fading. He looked away, down at his knees, gaze unfocused. The door clicked shut. 

The room was quiet. Ivan’s breathing was shallow, his body still. Was it the dream, fresh in his memory? A lingering voice from his subconscious? He couldn’t recall anything, no images, no sound. But there had been a voice, just now, as real as his own shallow breath. Either that, or he was losing his mind.

“Heavenly Father, forgive me.” he whispered to the empty room. The silence leered back.

* * *

Toris avoided him, but that was to be expected. Ivan knew he wouldn’t breathe a word of what had happened to anyone. The story was too sensitive, too intimate. But the memory of it refused to relinquish its grip on Ivan’s mind. He became obsessed with his own ignorance, offering desperate prayers of inquiry up to the Heavens, begging God to allow him to remember his dreams. He awoke each morning with a sense of urgency, his first thoughts occupied with trying to recall anything from the night before. But each attempt proved fruitless, his memory a blank slate.

A week of dreamless sleep passed. On the seventh day, he awoke in the middle of the church, on his back between the rows of pews. He had never been a sleepwalker, to his knowledge, but the circumstance was all too real to dispute. He shivered in the early morning air, rising from the stone floor. Above him, the massive hanging statue of the crucified Christ looked down at him, wooden eyes heavy with judgement.

“What is happening?” he asked, his hushed voice echoing in the empty hall. “Why is this happening to me? What have I done?”

Jesus did not answer. No one did. And yet, Ivan felt that someone, _something_ , was listening. 

“I know you are there,” he whispered, looking around him. “Whoever you are, whatever you are. You are not welcome.”

Invisible fingers brushed his chin. With a sharp inhale, Ivan tripped backward, arms raised. He heard a low laugh behind his ears, taunting him. He clenched his jaw, whirling around to greet the empty stillness of the back walls of the church.

“Enough games,” he warned, raising his voice to match the hair on the back of his neck. “Reveal yourself.”

He waited, motionless, heart hammering in his chest. Nothing moved. There was a small _creak_ , the infrastructure of the old church groaning under the weight of its years. Ivan held his breath, straining his ears for more noise, something of substance. Something that proved his sanity. 

Before him, silent statues of saints watched him with sightless eyes, casting unfriendly shadows on the stone. The stained glass windows behind them were desaturated, cutting grey shapes of light across the empty nave. During the day, the church was bright and colorful, refracting rainbows onto the high arches of the ceiling, bathing the church in a peaceful, rosy glow. But now, everything was in greyscale, cold and foreboding, shapeless, unfriendly, dangerous. Ivan felt as if he were somehow trapped in a snow globe, or held under a microscope, subject to the scrutiny of someone that cared little for his safety. He recognized the feeling: fear. 

He let himself breathe a short, shallow breath, enough to keep his heart pumping. There was another groan, the wooden pews shifting of their own accord. It wasn’t anything Ivan hadn’t heard before, kneeling silently during daily prayer. Logically, he knew he had to be alone. It was unlike any of his peers to pull pranks, especially on him. Besides, they were all too terrified to wander the grounds alone or before dawn, afraid that there might be something demonic lurking in the shadows. 

He felt a pang of guilt. Ivan had dismissed their fears for months now, refusing to believe their stories. But perhaps this was his test. Perhaps there really was something unnatural occurring, a presence that threatened their order and their faith. Now that he reflected on it, he began to doubt his own beliefs, revisiting the unusual circumstances of the last several weeks. Had any of it been real? Images blurred together, memories of visions and voices reappearing in his mind’s eye. He inhaled, recalling a pair of skeletal wings, glassy blue eyes, a boy that didn’t belong. He felt the memory of hands where they should never have been, trailing down his chest and further still. Was it a memory? A dream? Something he had tried to forget? He closed his eyes, silently imploring whoever might be listening for a sign.

_Ivan._

There it was, his own name in his ear, the syllables purred from an unseen tongue. Ivan exhaled a swear, throwing an elbow behind his back in self-defense as his eyes snapped open. But instead of connecting with the solid flesh of any real intruder, it sliced awkwardly through thin air, throwing him off balance. He stumbled, falling backwards onto the stone floor with a small cry. Above him, the arched ceiling loomed, the rafters closing over his head, trapping him. A laugh reverberated off the stone columns, threading between his heart and his ribs as he fumbled in his night robes for anything that might protect him. His fingers found the smooth round beads of a rosary in his pocket, and he withdrew it shakily, brandishing it before him.

“The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing that I shall want,” he shouted, voice wavering as he held his hand towards the ceiling. The laughter continued, echoing over the empty room, seeping into his skin.

_Nah, you want it_ , someone said, some _thing_ said, whispering up the length of Ivan’s neck, each word licking fire down his spine. _You want it, you want it, you want_ me.

“Though I may walk through the valley of the shadow–,” Ivan continued, voice steadying as he ran the beads between his fingers. “–Of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” 

_Liar. You’re afraid right now._

The laughter dissipated, its echoes slowly dying as silence descended once more. Ivan lay still, his arm outstretched. His heart threatened to leap from his chest, rattling around his ribcage like a flightless bird. It was real. Something was here, something demonic. And it wanted him. Ivan’s hand shook, the beads of his rosary clinking together as if to mock his fear. His heart continued to beat furiously, overtaken with adrenaline. It nearly stopped as the door to the narthex opened, the heavy wood moaning as the hinges shifted. Ivan watched it with wide eyes, throat dry.

Voices filtered through, then figures, ghostly pale in the dim light. They stopped abruptly, noticing Ivan. Ivan recognized their forms and sighed, letting out a breath he had subconsciously been holding. His hand fell into his lap as he collected himself, hurriedly getting to his feet.

“Father…” Eduard’s tone was wary, confused. At his side, Toris was mute, his expression fearful. 

“Brother Eduard,” Ivan said, tucking the rosary back into his pocket. “I am sorry to have startled you.”

“I...how did you get in? The door, it was locked.” Eduard laughed nervously, holding out his hand to display the key. Toris cast a glance around the nave, searching for signs of someone else.

“I heard another voice,” he mused, more to himself than anyone. He would not meet Ivan’s gaze. Eduard let his eyes wander, taking in the sight of Ivan’s rumpled night robes. He raised his gaze to the ceiling, searching for a potential intruder.

Ivan stepped toward them, then hesitated, aware that they had recoiled. He frowned slightly, crossing his arms. “I do not know what you mean. I am here alone.” He felt an invisible mouth smile against the shell of his ear. A shiver ran down his spine, but his voice remained steady. “I must have fallen asleep preparing for tomorrow’s homily. Likely, Brother Raivis did not notice when he locked things up.” 

“Oh, of course.” Eduard looked forcefully relieved. “As always, Father, you work too hard. Brother Raivis should have been more careful.” Toris remained silent, still looking about the church. Ivan started toward them again, a headache forming behind his eyes.

“Yes, I’ll be sure to remind him that,” he replied tersely. “Now, I shall be properly retiring to bed.” 

“O-of course,” Eduard repeated, stepping to the side to let Ivan pass. “Toris and I will prepare as usual.”

“Good. Do not send someone to wake me for morning prayers.” Ivan stepped past them, his hand still clutching the rosary in his pocket. “I will make up for my absence in the evening.”

Eduard replied with an affirmative, already out of earshot. Ivan headed out of the narthex and across the courtyard, muscle memory guiding him to his room. His thoughts remained occupied, swirling with the sounds of the demon’s voice. _You want_ me, it had said, spectral tone saturated with overconfidence. It was familiar, a voice from a memory, more real than a dream. Desperately, Ivan offered a prayer, asking God for guidance and understanding, or at the very least, for help in remembering. As he crawled into bed, he spoke aloud, uttering a single command into the stillness.

“Help me.” 

It occurred to him that he didn’t care who listened. All he needed was an answer.

His dreams were hazy, sightless, imbued with heat and feeling. Someone touched him, wrapping their hands around his throat, his arms, his thighs. _You want me_ , said that devilish voice in his ear. _You want me. Say it. Let me help. Let me in._ There was nothing to see, and everything to feel. _Let me in_ , the voice said again, needy, breathless. Ivan felt flames lick down his back, tracing over faint scars and fainter memories. They were hot enough to burn, but didn’t. _I want you_ , Ivan heard himself reply, grinning against a formless face. 

He awoke in bed, his hand gripped around his cock. This time, he allowed himself to finish, coming silently into his palm. During evening prayers, he didn’t ask forgiveness. Instead, he prayed for strength. 

* * *

Ivan spent the remainder of the evening studying texts, preoccupying himself with everything he could in order to resist the pull of drowsiness. Unlike the previous weeks, his dream from the last morning remained heavy in his mind, twisting his conscience with guilt and irritation. He was being tempted, that much he was sure of. But he would not give in, despite the persistent ache in his body. So he held himself hostage with scripture and psalms, forcing his knees to remain closed, forcing his hands to touch anything but himself.

He needed desperately to confess and repent. But he would have to wait until the following weekend to receive the sacrament. There was an order to who performed which rites, and this week was his shift in the confessional booth. So he vowed to resist all temptation for the next seven days. And part of that meant resisting sleep. 

He managed the first few days without too much trouble, aided by coffee and a busy schedule of liturgic meetings. Rumors of a demonic presence continued to dominate most casual conversations, and Ivan continued to dissuade them, offering matter-of-fact explanations or psalms of reflection to his peers. A voice in the back of his mind urged him to come clean, to validate their fears and pursue action, to contact someone from the diocese or seal off the nave altogether. A louder voice insisted he should remain silent.

Midweek arrived, and Ivan was starting to lose focus, arriving late or not at all to planned events and obligations. Eduard asked him if he had been sleeping, concernedly pointing out the dark circles under his eyes. At a glare from Ivan, he refrained from further probing. He must have passed the encounter on to his fellow peers, because Ivan found himself becoming avoided. Barely anyone greeted him in the hall, and even less sat with him during meals. Ivan found he preferred the silence. His thoughts were company enough.

By Thursday, Ivan had started falling asleep during confessions, only startled awake by the feeling of his own head falling forward onto his chest. He upped his caffeine intake to a fresh cup every couple hours, and implored God and his saints to grant him the strength to overcome human exhaustion. He delegated some of his usual tasks to Raivis, much to the younger priest’s amazement, and holed himself up in the library, reaching for a new book every time he felt his eyelids droop.

Saturday, he stumbled during evening Mass, mistaking a step for a flat surface. His misstep knocked some consecrated host to the cold stone of the chancel floor. There was a long moment of strained, shocked silence from the congregation. Ivan quickly bent to recover the host from the ground and placed it aside on the altar before continuing as if nothing had happened. As the evening progressed, the tension in the church dissipated, but the heavy weight of his error clung to his heart. That evening, he dissolved the soiled host in a glass of water, the shame of his clumsiness still burning hot on the back of his neck. He heard quiet laughter behind him, but did not turn to acknowledge it. He was _so_ close to absolution.

Sunday was a disaster. During the first Mass, Ivan forgot part of the Eucharistic prayer, resulting in the entire liturgy having to be redone. During the second Mass, one of the altar servers fell asleep by the altar and dropped a lit candle, sending the congregation into a mild uproar. Thankfully, nothing had been severely damaged, but holding a sputtering fire extinguisher was not how Ivan had intended to end his homily. As the members filed out after the conclusion of Mass, many thanked him for his heroics, laughing nervously about the altar boy’s actions. Ivan did not have the energy to match their humor, responding with terse acknowledgement, eager to see the last of them leave. Finally, when the nave was empty, he collapsed into one of the back pews, bringing shaking hands up to his face. He was utterly fatigued, but he had made it. It was the final day of his crusade. Tomorrow, he could confess. Tonight was his last sleepless night.

Thankfully, there was only one time slot requested on the list of evening confessions. Ivan hoped the confessor would be succinct with their transgressions. He was eager to revive himself with caffeine and liturgical texts. He sat agitatedly in his seat in the confessional, tapping his fingers atop the leather bible in his lap. They were running late.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Ivan looked down at his watch. He was usually practiced with patience, but he wasn’t willing to let his evening go to waste for a sinner that never bothered to show. Tiredness pulled at his eyes, his head ached with the need for caffeine. He sat for several minutes more, debating on whether or not to leave. Perhaps there was traffic. Perhaps they were waiting outside, too nervous to enter. Perhaps they had decided not to come at all. 

After twenty minutes, Ivan stood up to leave. 

“Father,” came a sudden voice from the other side of the screen. In his surprise, Ivan fell back onto the bench, his heart catching in his throat. He was certain that he’d been alone. He hadn’t heard the usual creak of the confessional door, nor the shuffle of someone’s clothes. Not once had a shadow crossed before the candles that burned brightly on the walls. But perhaps he had been too lost in his own thoughts, too tired to notice another presence. Collecting his breath, Ivan tilted his head toward the screen, respectfully keeping his eyes cast downward. 

“Good evening,” he replied calmly, rubbing his temples with one hand as he fumbled open the bible with the other. “I apologize for not hearing you enter. May the Lord’s blessings be upon you, and may Christ offer you strength as you confess your sins.” 

“Sure,” replied the voice, a man’s voice, strangely familiar. Ivan paused, fingers caught on a page from Matthew. The response was flippant, the speaker’s nonchalance curled around the word as the syllable left his mouth. The speaker sounded like a bored teenager, likely forced into attendance by an overbearing parent. Usually, that indicated a sparse and short confession was bound to follow. Ivan relaxed. 

“You may begin when ready,” he encouraged, thumbing backwards. A psalm was probably in order for a penitential prayer. Generally, teenagers liked psalms.

“See, that’s the thing, Father,” the man continued. Ivan heard the creak of the kneeler, the individual finally making a bodily sound as he shifted his weight. “There’s just so many, it’s hard knowing where to start.” He spoke with the air of someone entirely unapologetic. Ivan could practically see the half curled smile on the boy’s face. Unfortunately for him, Ivan wasn’t in the mood for games.

“Then begin with your most recent transgressions,” he offered, dog-earring a page. “The Lord is already aware of what you hold within your heart.” 

“Most recent, hm?” The boy was silent for a moment. Ivan raised his eyes to look up at the far wall. He saw the shadow of a sitting figure, their back against the prie-dieu, legs spread on the floor. The boy wouldn’t even sit properly. Ivan bit the inside of his cheek, fighting an aggressive response. 

“I guess…” he said after a while. “It’s probably a sin to jack off during church, right?”

Ivan bit his cheek entirely too hard. Wincing, he licked his lips before he spoke. “That would be correct.”

“Alright, let’s go with that then. I sinned today, touching myself during church. The thing is, though, it’s not entirely my fault.”

“And why is that?” Ivan asked before he could stop himself. He inhaled, looking away from the wall, down at anything else. On the other side of the screen, the man laughed softly. 

“Well, see, the priest was just, like, too hot. I was watching him during the whole thing, y’know. The way he held his hands, how he looked doing all that shit on the altar. I kept thinking about how it would feel for his cock to push inside me, if he fucked me on it. So honestly, part of the blame is on him.”

At a momentary loss for words, Ivan busied his hands with tracing the embroidered crosses on his stole. He had heard many confessions over the years, some more outlandish than others, but nothing that amounted to the vulgarity of the one he was currently forced to experience. The boy cleared his throat, continuing. 

“So you’ve got to understand where I’m coming from, don’t you, Father? Part of me feels bad, y’know, for stroking myself off in a holy place. Feels like that’s probably not okay. But I’m not really that sorry about it either. Cause I came really fucking hard, watching that priest up there, looking all nice in those red robes. See how that kind of puts me in a tight spot, trying to get absolution for something I don’t regret?”

Ivan sighed, curling his fingers over the spine of his bible. “This sacrament is reserved for those who are truly repentant for their sins. If you have come here to make a joke, I will ask you to please leave.”

“Ah well, see, that would be counter-productive, Father,” the man replied. Ivan heard the kneeler shift and looked towards the shadows. The figure was standing.

“It is not something I wish to argue. Please, see yourself out.”

“Actually,” the boy replied, stretching the word like a purr. Ivan watched the figure raise his arm, reaching towards the shadow of the confessional screen. Soon enough, a physical hand curled around it, word made flesh before Ivan’s eyes. The man himself followed, finally stepping into view. 

His hair was gold, flaxen blonde, unnaturally bright in the dim space. It fell into a lazy part over eyes of brilliant blue, hanging boyishly past his ears. His smile was predatory, all straight white teeth that glinted from curled lips like an invitation, with sharp incisors that beckoned from the dim darkness like glittering stars. Those blue eyes raked over Ivan with delight, dancing like flames in sharply narrowed eyes. Ivan simply stared, stunned into silence. He had seen this face before.

“Now that I’m finally here, I really, _really_ don’t want to leave anytime soon,” the boy continued, and Ivan finally recognized his voice. It had called to him from the darkness before, goaded him in his dreams. _You want me._ This was the demon, incarnate. 

He pressed further into the space, bringing with him a heat that beaded sweat down Ivan’s neck. Ivan, in turn, sat perfectly still, more awake that he had been all week. His heart was a rapid metronome, thrumming in his chest, but he remained motionless, his hands folded over the open Bible in his lap. Before him stood what looked like a man, but his shadow betrayed the illusion. Skeletal wings stretched across the far confessional wall, unfurled and unholy.

“You are not human,” Ivan stated softly, almost inquisitive. “This is a holy place. I cannot allow it.”

“You can’t allow it, huh?” the boy echoed, his smile stretching. “The whole reason I’m here is because you allowed it. You allowed me. You _want_ me.” There it was again, that phrase.

“I do not.”

“Oh, Father, you can lie to them, and you can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me.” The boy leaned down, equating their gazes. “Who do you think heard all your prayers, whispered in the filthy dark? Not God, no. God, or whoever you claim to believe in, doesn’t listen to the desperate prayers of men who can’t get other men off their mind.” 

Ivan’s jaw twitched. “Leave, before you are cast out.” 

“And don’t I know it, Father, how hard you get when you think about men like me. Beautiful, strong, with open mouths and willing cocks, on their knees for you.” The boy laughed a sigh, looking down with mock pity. “Must be hard, living such a pious life in the light, when all you want to do is fuck a tight, willing-”

Ivan shoved him, standing quickly. The boy tumbled backwards with a cackle, landing against the far wall, hands splayed against the stone. Ivan advanced, forgetting his Bible as it tumbled to the floor. He looked around for something, anything, to aid and protect him. His eyes landed on an iron crucifix hung on the adjacent wall, illuminated by the sconces on either side of it. He leaned towards it, only to find his path blocked.

“Ah ah, Father,” the boy crooned, holding him back with a hand to his chest. “Whatever you’re thinking, you can’t get rid of me that easily. You can’t just un-invite me into your life like this. Talk about rude.”

Ivan shoved him again, knocking his shoulder into the boy’s chest. The boy stumbled again, just enough for Ivan to reach past him and wrestle the crucifix from the wall. He brandished it before him, threateningly close to the demon’s face.

“I invoke the power of Jesus Christ, the Holy Spirit, and all the saints in Heaven,” he began, a growl to his voice. The demon’s smile faded, replacing itself with a glare. “In the name of the Father, the Son-”

“In the name of shit, _Ivan_ ,” the boy replied, spitting Ivan’s name from his mouth like a curse. Ivan paused, his head spinning. He felt dizzy, disoriented, his exhaustion working against him as the demon advanced, knocking his hand away. “The only name you should say is mine.”

He was on him before Ivan could respond, pushing them both down into the confessional seat. Ivan’s head hit the wall as the demon settled atop his thighs, pinning him there with an unnatural weight. The crucifix clattered to the floor, skittering under the confessional screen. 

“Get–” Ivan began, but the boy clamped a hand over his mouth, forcing his head back against the stone, silencing his command. The demon leaned forward, pressing his jaw against Ivan’s neck. 

“Easy there, Father. Why make things harder than they need to be?” He chuckled, rolling his hips against Ivan. “Seems like they’re hard enough.”

Ivan struggled, gripping the fabric of the boy’s shirt for any sort of leverage. He could feel his cock starting to stir, trapped against the demon’s ass and his own thigh. Despite his silent prayers, he was getting hard, his body betraying him, his desires overtaking his will. The demon laughed again, grinding down.

“See? What’d I tell you? You’re just a man, Father. How can that be a sin?” He relinquished his grip over Ivan’s mouth, moving his hand to Ivan’s hair. “Your whole life’s been spent denying who you are and what you want. Is that even living?” The demon made a noise of disdain. “And I’m supposed to believe that’s what, piety? Pretty pathetic if you ask me.” 

“Stop, please,” Ivan breathed, biting his tongue to keep from groaning as the demon moved against him again, purposefully rutting against his thigh. “Please, I took….a vow.” 

“Y’know I really love it when you say please,” the demon replied, nipping slightly at Ivan’s ear. “Say it again, it makes you sound so weak.” Ivan remained silent, breathing through his nose as the demon bit harder, sucking at the sensitive skin of his neck. 

He suddenly recalled the last time something like this had happened to him, before he had taken his vows. He had been just a teenager then, hiding in the darkness of his family barn, hardly daring to breathe. That boy had been desperate, clinging to another, his hands tangled in black, messy hair. It had been sloppy, juvenile, over far too quickly. A secret that never should have existed. 

He’d vowed to forget it, the feelings, the desire, the _need_ of it. But he had never been able to do more than suppress it, burying his desire beneath the hatred and shame that still weighed on his heart, heavier than the feeling of his own cock against his thigh. That present heaviness, however, was proving very difficult to suppress in his current state. 

“As fun as it is–,” the demon said with a sigh, pulling back to meet his gaze. “–To put up with your stubbornness, I have worked my ass off to get here. No thanks to you.” He pursed his lips, trailing his free hand down Ivan’s chest. “It would’ve been easier for the both of us if you had just been honest from the start.”

Ivan couldn’t help but laugh, digging his knuckles into the fabric of the boy’s shirt. “A demon, lecturing me on honesty. You are the one who tricked me, and now you are assaulting me.”

“That’s such a _word_ ,” he replied with a slight whine, tugging Ivan’s hair. “You said you wanted _me_. Way to leave a guy hanging for months. Are you really gonna back outta this now?”

“I am a man of Christ. I will not be tempted by you. You may do what you like to me, but I will not enjoy it.” 

The demon frowned. “That’s not what I want. I want you to enjoy it. What’s the point, otherwise?” He punctuated his question with a breathy moan as he rubbed his ass down against Ivan’s cock. “Unlike your mouth, your dick ain’t lyin.” 

Ivan had no reply. The demon was correct. His cock strained underneath them, twitching, aching. His mind screamed at him for release, his heart begged him for reprieve. Any holy parts of him left remained silent. Ivan was too tired to fight, too desperate to resist, too compromised to lie. This is what he had always wanted; the right to claim what he wanted, the freedom to be himself. Now that it was within his grasp, would he be so foolish as to continue to deny it? Perhaps, had he not been so exhausted, he would have. He would have struggled, cried out to the Lord for strength and mercy, fought off the demon with his bare hands. But instead, he met the demon’s gaze, and all thoughts of resistance fled from his mind. 

He gave in to temptation.

“Your name,” Ivan whispered, watching as his hands wandered, forgetting the consecrated ring on his finger. They travelled down the boy’s torso, feeling the muscle under the linen. “What is it?”

“Depends,” the boy murmured, pressing against his touch. “For right now? Call me Alfred.”

Ivan stilled, momentarily surprised. He had been expecting something far more archaic. “Alfred,” he repeated, the syllables dancing off his tongue as his accent molded the name into a different sound. It wasn’t so much a name as it was a secret ingredient, the missing ink that forged a contract between them.

“So long I’ve waited to hear you say it,” the demon, Alfred, breathed against his ear. “I wasn’t lying earlier, when I was confessing. I watched you today, and I couldn’t stop.”

“You’ve been watching me for a while,” Ivan corrected, slipping his hands under Alfred’s shirt. His skin was oddly cool. Alfred hummed in agreement, rotating his hips to grind their cocks against one another. The friction of it made Ivan jerk, his head nearly colliding into Alfred’s chin. Alfred held him back by the hair, a breathless, easy laugh escaping his lips.

“Sensitive, I get it,” he purred, his other hand pawing at the buttons on Ivan’s cassock. “Aside from the other night, how long has it been? Years? You’re practically a saint. Y’know, some of the other guys around here aren’t so pious.” 

A sharp flame of something flicked down Ivan’s chest. “You watch others, aside from me?”

Alfred snickered. “No reason to be jealous. You’re the one I want. I just happen to know what goes on behind closed doors. But you’re nothing like them.”

“And why me?” Ivan questioned, gathering the courage to lift his hips, moving back against Alfred. Alfred inhaled, losing his slow rhythm momentarily. 

“You’re strong. And you suffer. Your soul called out to me long before you ever heard my voice.” They moved together again, and Ivan’s fingers traced the waistband of Alfred’s jeans. He let his eyes closed, his head tipping back against the wall again. All he wanted to do was feel. 

“So, this is fate?” he murmured, fingers lazily exploring what he could not see; the elastic of Alfred’s waistband, the metal of a zipper, the hard length of the demon’s cock underneath.

“You’re the one that believes in free will,” Alfred replied, resuming his attention to Ivan’s neck. His teeth ghosted over light scars, reminders of the dangers of giving in to sin. “That’s all this is.”

“Mm,” Ivan murmured, heart fluttering as Alfred bucked into his hand. Yes, this is what he needed. No absolution could ever amount to this. 

“I want you,” Alfred whispered, his tongue outlining the skin underneath Ivan’s collar. “I want you to want me, completely.” 

“Ah, I–” Ivan began before sighing heavily, feeling Alfred’s fingers slip inside his vestments, pressing onto his bare skin. “You know that I am no longer in control of what I want.” 

“On the contrary,” Alfred persisted, moving his hands to shrug the cassock from Ivan’s shoulders, baring his skin to the dim light. “You’re more in control now than you’ve ever been.”

“It does not feel that way to me,” Ivan mused, opening his eyes to find Alfred’s own bright ones already fixed on him. The demon was smiling, picturesque, his cheeks flushed and his shirt rumpled, Ivan’s pale hand pressed into his tan stomach. 

“Well, maybe this’ll help,” Alfred grinned, pulling back. He slid from Ivan’s lap, moving to kneel between his legs. His hands went to the remaining buttons, unfastening them deftly until Ivan’s clothing fell completely away. Ivan looked down at himself, taking in the sight of his hard cock straining against his underwear, the boy’s tan hands resting on his thighs, Alfred’s tongue moistening his bottom lip. This was something from a dream. 

Alfred wasted no time freeing him, swiftly pulling his underwear over his thighs. Ivan watched, mesmerized, as the demon pushed the fabric down his legs and then leaned closer, teeth glinting as his mouth hovered over Ivan’s cock. He locked their gaze, blue eyes devilish and dark, easy smile heavy with an expression of want. 

“Try not to come too fast, Father,” Alfred warned cheekily. Ivan watched his cock disappear down the demon’s throat. 

It was overwhelming. His hands immediately found Alfred’s hair, body tense with the onslaught of pleasure. Sounds he had never made before tumbled from his lips, groans of pleasure and prayer, God’s name suddenly becoming the dirtiest word he had ever uttered aloud. Alfred worked him like there was nothing to it, taking him fully down his throat before pulling back, sucking in short spurts around Ivan’s sensitive head before languidly re-swallowing him whole. His tongue licked from base to tip, curling around his crown, tracing patterns over every vein. His lips were soft and his mouth was hot, and Ivan knew he was not meant to last, not like this. 

“A-Alfred,” he managed, choking out the demon’s name between gasps and groans. He thought maybe that he was hurting him, his grip on Alfred’s hair vicelike. But Alfred held his gaze, unbreaking, no sign of distress apparent in his expression. He bobbed his head and tilted his jaw, and Ivan couldn’t look away, the shame burning red hot across his face and down his naked body. He vaguely wondered if hell felt like this, endless unquenchable heat. Perhaps the eternal damnation was worth it. The flames were just another sensation of pleasure. 

Ivan knew he should warn him as he felt the pressure build, hot and steady. But he let his mouth hang open, wordless, all language evading him. All he could do was watch and feel, even as Alfred licked just underneath his head, tongue flicking against the spot of skin that had him tipping over the edge.

“I–” he managed, and then he was coming, too hot and fast for Alfred to do anything but swallow it, blue eyes narrowing with self-satisfaction. Ivan panted as he came down, feeling ashamed. But more than that, he felt good. It was hard to label. He just felt...good. Right. Whole.

“So…”Alfred said finally, voice hoarse. “How was that? You lasted longer than I thought, good for you.”

“If that...was an example of finding control,” Ivan breathed. “It was a poor one. I was helpless.” Alfred grinned, satisfied with himself. 

“Oh, we’re not done.” At Ivan’s puzzled expression, Alfred laughed slightly, slowly wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. “I gotta come too, y’know. Or did you think I was just gonna spend all my time on you?”

Ivan hummed, watching the demon rise from the floor. He felt dizzy, exhausted in a new way, like he was trapped in a dream that wouldn’t allow him to sleep. His body was more relaxed than it had ever been, limbs tingling with the final sensations of pleasure. He hoped Alfred wasn’t expecting too much in return. He didn’t know if he could manage.

“And what–,” Ivan asked, watching Alfred lift his shirt over his head, exposing toned, tan skin. “–can I offer you in return?”

“Oh, just, y’know, what you _really_ want,” Alfred replied, tossing the fabric aside. He shimmied out of his underwear and jeans, pushing them swiftly to the floor, exposing the rest of himself to Ivan. Ivan drank in the sight, feeling altogether parched. Alfred was lean but not skinny, filled out in all the right places, defined in all the rest, an icon of the ideal male physique. His arms were long and his waist was narrow, his hips cutting lines into his stomach that led directly to his hardened cock. He hadn’t guessed incorrectly; this was the sort of boy Ivan’s subconscious pursued in his dreams. He wondered if Alfred always looked like this, or if he simply looked like this for _him_. 

“This is more than I have ever wanted,” Ivan said, unsure of why he felt the need to flatter the demon. He knew Alfred could see the hunger in his eyes. Alfred grinned, bringing a hand over his cock in a momentary display of self-consciousness. 

“That might be the case, but there’s still more you want. There’s still more that I want from you.” He lifted his free hand to his chin, pulling a face of concentration. “But this...nah. This isn’t how I pictured things. What’dya say we go somewhere with a little more...breathing room?”

Ivan blinked. He hadn’t considered that their sinful proceedings needed to occur in any particular sized room. Granted, the demon could have appeared to him anywhere; he was thankful he hadn’t decided to rouse him in his bedroom. Toris didn’t need more reason to lose faith in him. But the confessional room was private, undisturbed, out of the way of any curious wanderers. It was small, but they were only two bodies. What could they possibly need more space for? 

Whatever it was, Alfred soon decided that he knew the perfect place. He leaned forward with a grin, grabbing Ivan by the shoulder. Ivan raised an eyebrow, waiting for a direction. 

“Always wanted it here,” Alfred said with a slight laugh. Ivan furrowed his brows, then stifled a gasp, realizing their location had changed in an instant. He was no longer sprawled in his confessional seat. Rather, he was sitting in his presider’s chair, adjacent to the altar, right at the head of the empty church.

“No–,” he began, but then Alfred’s lips were on his, soft and warm and pulling at his own. Ivan relaxed, allowing the feeling to overtake him, all thoughts of panic and humiliation simply fading into the comfortable heat of their kiss. This boy wanted him, this _demon_ wanted him, his tiny conscience reminded. But regardless, he was wanted. Ivan wasn’t about to let morality get in the way. 

“On the altar,” Alfred breathed, breaking their kiss after a few moments. “That’s where I want you.” 

Ivan couldn’t help but laugh, a short, incredulous gasp. “I had better just abandon my life right now,” he said, looking past Alfred at the clothed table before them. “I cannot claim to be a servant of God if I desecrate his altar.”

“Hate to break it to you, Father, but you already let a demon suck you off. Pretty sure you’re out of the running for holiest man of the year.” Alfred smirked, extracting himself from Ivan’s lap. He took several steps back, tilting his head to admire the large hanging crucifix above them. “Plus, what better way to offer up your sins than to bare it all for Jesus, right here on his little table?” 

Ivan was in equal parts both horrified and aroused. Every rational thought in his head begged him to put an end to this now, to reach for the holy water on the wall behind him, to cast Alfred back into hell once and for all. But he was enamored with the boy that stood before him, almost giddy with the prospect of claiming him before Christ. How fitting, that he should finally acknowledge who he was, after all these years, in the house that had condemned him in the first place. It was, Ivan thought, holy.

“You want me to fuck you here?” Ivan stood, every nerve on fire. “On the altar of the Lord? You do realize you would become a sacrifice.” 

Alfred leaned back against the table, expression salacious. “We got that in common, Father. I know all about sacrifice.” 

Ivan advanced, mouth in a thin smile. “I am sure you do.” He reached where Alfred stood and held his gaze, inwardly deciding on how to proceed. “And I know all about sin.” 

“Mm, nah, I really don’t think you know the half of it,” Alfred countered, reaching forward to stroke a palm down Ivan’s cock, re-inviting that pleasurable warmth. “Thankfully, I’m an awesome teacher.” 

Ivan hummed, tracing his fingers down Alfred’s sides. His hands found his hips and squeezed, forcing a slight whine from Alfred. Ivan used it as an invitation to kiss him again, more autonomous this time. Alfred let him have control, lips parting to allow for their tongues to properly meet. Ivan moved further, cupping the soft skin of Alfred’s ass before lifting him to sit on the edge of the altar. He was surprisingly light, and Ivan maneuvered him easily, forcing him onto his back. Alfred laughed breathlessly, blue eyes half-lidded, blonde hair mussed over his brow, chest rising with heavy breaths. He looked like the poster-child for debauchery. 

“That’s it, Father,” he crooned, bringing a hand over his cock. He spread his legs slowly, gaze tugging Ivan forward to nestle between his thighs. Ivan pushed his knees further, until his cock pressed against Alfred’s hand. The altar really was the perfect height for this. Ivan had never noticed, not that he had ever needed to. 

“I need to prepare you,” Ivan mused, though he hadn’t intended to say it aloud. Alfred tilted his chin.

“Not necessarily. Demon, remember? I can make it easy for you.” He reached forward, gripping Ivan’s wrist. “Press a finger against me, feel how needy I am.” 

Ivan complied, pushing his index finger against Alfred’s hole. To his surprise it was wet, and his finger easily slid inside. Alfred moaned and encouraged him, forcing his finger further in. Ivan blinked up warily, scanning the church for signs of anyone who might have heard or seen.

“D-don’t worry,” Alfred gasped, propping himself up on his free elbow. “We’re alone. No one can get in even if they wanted to.” Ivan thought he should probably be concerned as to how a demon could seal a church, but it wasn’t currently relevant. He was just relieved that they were undisturbed. 

He pushed another finger in, and Alfred tipped his head back, a low groan resonating from his throat. His grip on Ivan’s hand slackened, and Ivan moved, grabbing the demon’s wrist with his free hand to force it back against the table. Alfred lost his balance on his elbow and lay prostrate, blue eyes wide as his back hit the altar. Ivan pinned him there, his wrist over his head. 

“Fuck, that’s more like it,” Alfred whispered, not bothering to resist. “Take it out on me, all these years of denial. Fuck me like you need it. Use me, Father.” 

Ivan swore and extracted his fingers, deciding that the prep was satisfactory. Alfred was already a mess. He reached down to stroke himself to full hardness, two short jerks, before aligning his cock with Alfred’s hole. Without much ceremony, he pushed himself in. 

“All..” Ivan huffed, letting his cock adjust to the tight heat of Alfred’s ass. “All these months, it’s been you...torturing the order.” He slowly pulled out, nearly completely, before slamming himself back inside. Alfred shrieked. “Making all of us think that we are crazy.” 

“Aa-hah, hah,” Alfred replied, breath shaky as Ivan repeated his thrust, slowly out, then in all at once. “Like I s-said, hard to get you to pay attention to me.” He whined as Ivan adjusted his hips, managing to insert himself more fully. “You’re not g-good at believing what you see.” 

“You tormented me,” Ivan huffed, using his free hand to lift one of Alfred’s thighs. Alfred laughed.

“Not any more than you’ve tortured yourself. But you know what?” He opened his mouth to continue, but instead of informing Ivan of anything he didn’t know, a slew of wanton moans cascaded from his lips. Ivan had begun to move more steadily, finding the proper rhythm, and at this angle, he fit completely inside of the demon. It was a perfect feeling. He must have hit something inside of Alfred that made him feel the same. 

“There,” Ivan breathed, allowing himself to be slightly more forceful, chasing the build of pleasure between them. “Now I am taking what I want.”

“Yes,” Alfred sighed, squirming slightly in Ivan’s grip as they moved together. “Please, _please_ , Father.” 

It was automatic. Ivan lost himself, eyes closed as he thrust again and again into the demon that lay before him. Alfred’s whines and moans were like music to his ears, a chorus of _please_ s and _God_ s and nonsensical noises that sounded sweeter than angelic hymns. Every so often, he would hit something inside of Alfred that made the demon cry out, and Ivan would feel something surge inside him. Desire, satisfaction, self-righteousness; it did nothing but encourage Ivan to continue, to deny any and all voices inside of him that insisted that this was wrong. 

Of course it was, and yet, it wasn’t. 

Alfred shifted suddenly and Ivan opened his eyes, the new rush of pleasure forcing him to watch as the demon bucked against him. Alfred’s free hand was on his chest, massaging his nipple and caressing his upper stomach. The sight of it made Ivan groan low in his throat, vigor renewed, and he increased his speed. Above them, the sightless eyes of the crucified Christ watched without comment. Ivan glanced at it, then back down. It was nothing now but an oppressive reminder. He hoped God was watching. He hoped every host in Heaven couldn’t look away. 

“Fu-huh-huuuuuuck,” Alfred moaned, squirming against him again as Ivan thrust without mercy. “I’m gonna come so fucking hard, fuck, _fuck._ ”

“Beg me for it,” Ivan said, the words escaping his mouth before they had properly formed in his brain. He swallowed, unsure of what to say next, and continued to pound into the demon underneath him.

“Oh _please_ , Father,” Alfred moaned, all too happy to obey. “Please let me come, pleasepleaseplease, fuck me like the whore that I am, _please_ , Father–”

“Demon,” Ivan spat, moving his grip from Alfred’s wrist to his hair. “Look what you’ve done to me.”

“–me _please_ ,” Alfred continued, moaning. He reached out with both hands to grip at Ivan’s shoulders, forcing them closer, forcing him deeper. “I _need_ you, I fucking need you so bad, please Father, make me come.” 

“Ruined me, you’ve–hah–you’ve ruined–” Ivan bit his tongue as Alfred keened, the sound swirling something molten hot in his gut. “You’ve ruined me.” 

“I’m sorry, Father, I’m so sorry,” Alfred moaned, sounding anything but. Ivan’s eyes were glued to his mouth, which hung open, red and wet and gasping. “F-fuck, forgive me.”

Ivan laughed breathlessly, thinking that if anything, it was he who should be begging for forgiveness. But if he knew anything, it was that forgiveness only really worked if the sinner was truly repentant. And here, fucking this demon boy on the altar of the Lord, he couldn’t find it in him to be sorry for any of it.

“Ivan,” Alfred gasped, jerking him from his reverie. Somehow, his given name was so much more intense to hear than his religious title. “I can’t, I’m gonna, I’m so close, please, _please_!”

Ivan knew he wouldn’t be far behind. Alfred tightened around his cock and he reacted, thrusting wildly, abandoning all thought. Alfred was begging, his hands scrambling wildly across Ivan’s shoulders and at the base of his neck. “Alfred,” Ivan groaned, his mouth finding the demon’s neck. He bit down, steeling himself, unwilling to come before the demon fell apart in his hands. He left a mark before withdrawing, moving just enough to growl a single command into Alfred’s ear.

“Come.”

Alfred came with a cry, a whiney howl that echoed throughout the empty church. His nails dug into Ivan’s shoulders as his entire body heaved, forcing Ivan deeper, trapping them together. The force of it seemed to shake the very stone they stood on, and Ivan felt his own legs buckle. Was there an earthquake? Everything felt off-balance, too close, too intangible. Perhaps, Ivan thought wildly, he was dying.

He didn’t have time for any further investigation before his dick spasmed and he came, filling the demon. His vision went white, all senses maxed, and he cried out a wordless half-prayer to the empty hall. His orgasm racked through him, drawing strength from every part of his body as he emptied himself into the demon. Alfred moaned as he felt Ivan come, whimpering at the intensity of it. It lasted for what felt like minutes, Ivan’s hips shaking as he jerked again and again, helpless to the feeling. He could hear Alfred crooning something, his fingers tangled in the hairs at the base of Ivan’s neck. Ivan breathed slowly, chest heaving as he came down from it, the fog beginning to lift. 

After a moment, he was still. All of his limbs went slack and he collapsed onto Alfred, utterly spent. 

They lay together, breathing. Ivan felt the weight of exhaustion bear down upon him once more, heavy and persistent. He couldn’t succumb, not here, not naked at the foot of the altar. He felt Alfred shift underneath him, extracting his cock and moving their bodies into a new position.

“I hope it was everything you wanted,” Alfred said, but his voice sounded far away, unfamiliar, the last whispers of a fading dream. _Was he dreaming?_ Ivan wondered, feeling hands push and pull him. Was all of this just a dream? 

“No,” Alfred whispered, close to his ear. “But for now, sleep.”

With a nod, Ivan obeyed.

* * *

He awoke in bed. 

For several moments, Ivan lay quietly, mind swimming with images of Alfred, of their shared sin. It couldn’t have been a dream; it had felt almost _too_ real. Ivan could still feel a slight ache between his legs, the ghostly touch of fingers in his hair. If it had been a dream, it had been unlike any dream he’d ever had before. He wished that it hadn’t had to end.

A small shuffling noise distracted his thoughts. Sitting up, Ivan looked to his left to see Toris neatly folding his sheets under his mattress. It appeared that two of them were alone. The demon was nowhere to be seen.

“Ah, good morning, Father,” said Toris softly, turning to greet Ivan. “I am happy to say you look rested.”

“Yes,” Ivan said slowly, bringing up a hand to rub at his eyes. “Perhaps I overslept.”

“Hardly,” Toris replied warmly, moving towards their shared dresser. “I am only up slightly earlier than usual to see to it that everything is in order.”

“In order?” Ivan repeated, watching him pull open a drawer. 

“Ah, perhaps you forgot. Yesterday was quite a disastrous day, wasn’t it.” Toris chuckled softly, extracting his day robes. “What with that fire…Let’s hope for no more of that this weekend.” 

Ivan blinked. The fire from Sunday, from the altar boy’s candle? That meant it was only Monday. His head felt heavy with confusion. 

“But yes, the new seminarians arrive today. I am part of the greeting committee. Perhaps you’d like to accompany me? The archbishop hasn’t arrived yet, so that makes you the senior member of the order here. I’m sure they would love to meet you.” 

Toris looked at him expectantly as he buttoned the robes over his chest. Ivan smiled faintly in return, moving to rise from his bed. 

“I will be happy to greet them,” he replied. Anything to clear his head.

After dressing, Ivan followed Toris to the main hall, thoughts still swirling. He thoroughly convinced himself that the encounter with Alfred had indeed been a vivid, sinful dream, no doubt brought on by exhaustion. He had only wanted it to be real in some desperate attempt to be self-immolating, to punish himself for the previous week’s failures. But thankfully, it was Monday. He would receive the sacrament of reconciliation tonight, and the last of his sins would be absolved. The demon would plague him no more.

The hall was busy, filled with priests and deacons who were sitting down to eat before the morning’s activities. A buffet table in the middle was laden with porridge, eggs, sausage, and other breakfast foods, and a cart along the back wall offered a selection of coffee, tea, and juice. Ivan watched as one of the chefs ladled soup into a canister, idly thinking that he preferred the room when it was quiet.

“Good morning, brothers,” Toris said brightly, addressing a group of black-clad young men gathered before them. “Welcome. We’ve got a busy schedule today, so please, be sure to eat your fill of breakfast.”

“Sure will, I’m starving,” spoke up one of the boys. Scattered laughter was his response. Ivan turned his attention to the group. 

“The other committee leaders should be here momentarily,” continued Toris, checking his watch. “And with me here is Father Ivan, who you will get to know in the coming weeks. Although he won’t be teaching you directly, he oversees our community activities, so I am sure you can come to him with any–” Toris glanced at Ivan, confirming that he consented to his statement. “– _pressing_ matters. All other questions should be directed towards me or anyone else on the welcoming committee.” 

Ivan nodded slightly in greeting as the group murmured. He glanced over them without much interest, sizing up each wide-eyed, eager, pious face, until his breath caught in his throat.

Standing in the middle of the crowd was a young, familiar-looking man. His short golden hair hung in a part over bright blue eyes, ones that seemed wider than usual due to the magnification of glasses that sat on his perfectly straight nose. He had a wide, easy smile with straight white teeth, the kind of smile that was meant for billboards and boathouses, not for a congregation. The boy was staring right at Ivan, nearly right through him, and as Ivan held his gaze, he cocked an eyebrow. 

_Alfred._

“–so please, keep that in mind,” Toris was saying. “Thank you.” The group started to disperse, eager to fill their plates. Ivan remained where he was, gaze fixed on the blonde boy before him. To his surprise, the boy stepped forward.

“Nice to meet you properly, Father,” he said quietly, smile quickly transforming into a smirk. “Really, _really_ looking forward to getting to know you.”

Ivan matched his expression, smile thin. “The pleasure is mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
